Chapter 10
Ten
Nathan
The morning came sooner than Nathan wished. The light streamed into his bedroom, an unwanted intruder wielding a white-hot knife. It broke the peace he’d achieved in sleep.
Somehow he’d put the events of the previous evening out of his mind enough to drift off to sleep, but the bright sun brought all of it crashing down on him. Father McDonagh and the strange Franciscan. The beast in the cemetery. Hunter kissing him.
Hunter kissing him.
It was ridiculous that, of the things that had happened, the kiss was the one unsettling him the most. He’d resolved to treat it as a simple trial, a temptation like any other, but now, alone in his bed, it was easier said than done.
The man wasn’t like other temptations. Nathan had a sweet tooth, but he didn’t have trouble giving up candy for Lent. It might be occasionally frustrating, but nothing he couldn’t handle.
Hunter wasn’t a chocolate bar. Nathan could avoid eating a chocolate bar by focusing on the negative effects of eating too much sugar. Diabetes and heart disease ran in his family, so he had to be careful. It was just that simple.
He couldn’t stop thinking about the man. Nathan was a priest. Romance wasn’t on the table. But repeating that over and over in his mind didn’t make the memory of the kiss fade away. It didn’t even shunt it off to the side. No, the image was at the forefront of his thoughts, and it wouldn’t go away.
It shouldn’t even matter that Hunter was a man. After all, the Church forbade sexual entanglements regardless of gender.
But for some reason, it did matter. Nathan had kissed women in his life before he attended seminary. It had been pleasant. Nothing life-changing.
The kiss with Hunter had been different. It was as if the ground beneath him had turned into sticky marshmallow, and he could not move through it. Hunter being a man intensified the feeling. Did the forbidden nature of it make it even more exciting?
He was stuck.
And it was exciting. Nathan’s cock was hard right now, straining against his boxer briefs. His morning wood hadn’t softened when he woke up. Just the opposite. He was getting harder by the second.
From the far wall, a painting of the Sacred Heart of Jesus stared down at him. Normally, Nathan would take comfort from the depiction of the savior’s face, the Good Shepherd who would keep him on the straight and narrow.
Today, though, the expression took on a different quality. It’s almost as though it dared him. Dared him to touch himself, to show how close he was to the edge. According to the Church, masturbation was a sin, and yet…
Shaking his head to clear his thoughts and closing his eyes, Nathan took a deep breath, attempting to ground himself. As he did, however, he was thrust back to the night before.
Hunter gripping the back of his neck, his hand so strong and secure. His lips, surprisingly soft, meeting Nathan’s own. Hunter’s tongue ravaging his mouth.
But most of all, how easily Nathan had submitted. When their lips touched, Nathan had been a willing participant, no matter what he’d said to Hunter. There’d been no thought of God or of his vows. His body had given over itself, rejoicing in the connection.
Even now, he was like a live wire, his muscles taut with tension and his dick painfully erect, precum staining the front of his underwear.
And he couldn’t stop imagining he had God’s approval. Encouragement, even. It was a heretical thought, and yet…
Nathan opened his eyes, looking not just at the painting but also at the crosses hung about the room. Searching for guilt at the sight of them, some spark of conscience inside himself, but he found none.
All he found was need.
Nathan’s hand brushed against the front of his underwear, sliding against the underside of his shaft through the fabric. He shuddered. He generally avoided jerking off.
It was a sin, but it didn’t feel sinful now. Now, a hunger roiled in him, and the image of Hunter filled Nathan’s mind. His deep blue eyes staring down at him, framed by those long lashes. His impish features. His…tongue…
Fuck, he couldn’t hold off on it. He released his cock, exposing it to the cool air of the bedroom. It twitched as he wrapped his hand around it, slowly pumping.
Masturbating so seldom made one thing sure: he wouldn’t last long. That was compounded by the image he now had in his head: Hunter swirling his tongue around the head of his dick, mischievously staring up at Nathan as he swallowed him inch by inch.
“Fuck…Hunter…” His words came out in a desperate whisper. How had just the thought of the man brought him such intense pleasure?
Nathan stopped, bringing his hand up to his mouth and spitting in it. As he did, he imagined Hunter wetting his cock with his tongue, leaving trails of saliva behind, and he nearly came untouched.
He brought his hand back to his hard cock, lubing it with his spit and increasing the pace.
In his mind, Hunter sped up as well, eager, begging for Nathan’s cum. He imagined Hunter pressing his powerful hands down on his thighs as the man swallowed him over and over again.
Nathan let out a low moan, unable to keep his pleasure inside.
A new image flashed before him, a sacrilegious one, of Hunter blowing him in the sacristy. Of leaning up against the wall in his full vestments. Of Hunter suffocating underneath the fabric.
It was too much. Nathan’s balls tightened as he hurtled toward the edge. His whole body tensed, and then it was happening. His cum exploded out of him, white ropes criss-crossing his abs and chest.
As he orgasmed, his vision went white, and he left his body behind. He was a creature of pure energy. Pure pleasure.
Tremors wracked him as Nathan came back to himself, leaving him a cum-stained, twitchy mess. He lay there as his breathing slowed.
And he waited for it. The guilt. The shame. The feeling of having committed a sin, of needing to be cleansed. He had committed a sin, and imagined an even greater one, so he should feel bad about it.
But he didn’t. The self-flagellation never manifested. Instead, he was satisfied and exhausted, his skin pressing into the soft sheets as his muscles finally relaxed.
Opening his eyes, once more he found the portrait of the Savior looking down at him. Where was the sense of failure? Of betrayal? But he found no accusation in his Lord’s visage. Instead, he found…approval?
He was delusional. That was the only explanation.
The lack of guilt made it worse, didn’t it? He should be contrite, should rush off to confession to cleanse himself from the act and beg mercy from God. But it didn’t feel like he’d done something requiring God’s mercy.
In fact, it was as if this was God’s mercy. This feeling of fulfillment and release. That Hunter had been sent to him. Grace personified in one infuriating being.
He was fucked.
After showering, Nathan tiptoed down the stairs to the first floor of the rectory. He hoped Father McDonagh was still asleep—the priest rarely woke until Nathan was gone for the day.
He would rather not interact with the man, especially after what he’d witnessed the night before. Eventually, Nathan would have to confront him, but first he wanted to understand exactly what he’d seen.
Nathan made a single cup of coffee and stood in the rectory's kitchen, leaning against the sink as the hot, bitter liquid hit his lips. The room was straight out of the 1950s, with linoleum tiles and an eyesore of a burnt-orange refrigerator. The entire building desperately needed a refresh.
Which was confusing. St. Stephen’s brought in a good amount of revenue from donations. Father McDonagh bragged about being buddy-buddy with the bishop. He could easily get permission to renovate the building.
There was so much about the pastor that Nathan didn’t understand. The priest was painfully mundane and yet also strangely mysterious. He’d always treated Nathan as if he were lesser, and other than pawning off the tasks he didn’t want to do, Father McDonagh didn’t give him a second thought.
At times, he’d even veered into what some might label verbal abuse, berating Nathan and calling him horrific names.
There wasn’t a chance Father McDonagh would give away his secrets.
It was time to take a few risks. Father McDonagh had always been protective of everything in the rectory. He lashed out when Nathan sat in the chair he considered his, or if Nathan picked up the Bible he left out on the end table in the living room.
There were many unexplored nooks and crannies in the rectory Nathan had never explored. When he wasn’t out in the community, he mostly hid in his bedroom. He didn’t know the house at all.
With a light touch, Nathan opened the cupboards in the kitchen. Father McDonagh had allowed him one small cabinet to keep his dry goods in. Beyond that, he didn’t know what the pastor had kept tucked away in the kitchen.
At first, his investigation revealed little beyond the typical pantry items, and few enough of those. Father McDonagh had a penchant for raisins and soda crackers. There were no surprises hidden behind the pots and pans or tucked away with the cleaning products under the sink.
The cupboards were so bare that it reminded Nathan of his childhood. His mother had struggled. She’d been a working-class single mom, and sometimes it was only by the grace of God and their community that they ate.
He missed her.
When Nathan opened the closet, though, he found a few odd items. He’d never been in there, although he had the notion Father McDonagh used it for extra food storage. What Nathan found didn’t make a ton of sense.
Father McDonagh wasn’t much of a cook, persisting on prepared foods and the occasional ordered pizza. Knowing that, why was there a fifty-pound bag of kosher salt?
There were also several bundles of herbs hanging, and a couple of small boxes of chalk. Surprising, too, were the packs of liturgical candles. Nathan had no idea why they would be in the rectory closet rather than at the church.